Page 47 of Someone To Claim
I amnotcrying. The moisture on my cheek must be sweat. Is the cabin roof leaking? Okay fine, maybe there’s a single tear, but more than that, I’ll deny to my grave.
Of course, Jensen notices.
He brushes it away without saying a word, then eases out of me, rolls to his side, and pulls me to his chest. He grabs the comforter that has migrated nearly to the floor and covers both of us. The cabin air is cool, but nothing compared to sleeping in the tent, and his arm settles across my middle, his breath warm on my neck.
This is the part where I should make a joke. Did you know I’m the queen of post-sex deflection? I’ve compiled an impressive list of one-liners to keep men (or me) from being lulled into believing physical intimacy is more than scratching a biological itch.
Not one comes to mind as I listen to the gentle patter of rain against the cabin roof. The bears are out there doing bear things, and fifteen hours away is a woman I was desperate to meet who doesn’t know I exist. Yep, I’m using the past tense. Because I don’t feel desperate now. I feel loose-limbed and content and quite possibly dickmatized by the man holding me like he has no intention of letting go. Ever.
And I know it’s about more than the sex. Jensen gave me space to fall apart and didn’t demand I put myself back together. Without realizing it, he took care of me in the best way possible—by letting me decide how I wanted to be taken care of.
I am so tired of being taken care of, and also, apparently, tired of pretending I don’t want it.
“Stop thinking, Sunshine,” he murmurs into my hair, clearly having found a direct access point to my brain.
“Make me.”
His arm tightens around my waist as he kisses the back of my neck. Oh, yeah, that’ll work. I close my eyes and savor his achingly slow touch. There’s plenty of time for worrying tomorrow when the sun comes up, and this spell breaks again. Tonight, it’s enough to just be happy. I haven’t been just happy in a really long time.
18
SLOANE
I’ve been sittingat the cabin’s kitchen table writing in my notebook since we finished lunch, but I can’t tell you what I’ve written. Mostly, my feelings about Kristen Quinn not being here when we arrived, and how I still don’t understand why she would leave this place before she absolutely had to.
It’s magic, and not in the sexual sorcery way my friends joked about before I left. Although being woken up with Jensen kissing his way down my body was its own sort of spell.
This cabin is more about the awe-inspiring beauty of the backcountry and having my own little safe space tucked into a perfect meadow surrounded by the forest. It’s solitude, but not quiet, with birds and chipmunks and God knows what else (I’m not asking) making noise just beyond the glass. Even with the windows closed, the air smells like pine trees, so fresh it could inspire paragraphs of body wash ad copy.
If I had a book to write, there’s no place I’d rather be.
My heart stutters at the idea, and I drop my pen, glancing out of the window I cleaned earlier. I love putting my thoughts on paper, but I never considered making them into something worthy of more eyes than mine.
As if sensing my gaze, Jensen looks up over Rick’s bent shoulder and gives me a little wave. I return it with a smile I hope doesn’t look as dopey as it feels.
Rick stopped by this morning to check on us and see if we needed anything, but his real mission was to get help installing new solar panels on the cabin roof. He didn’t waste time hinting that if Jensen could spare a couple of hours, he’d be grateful for an extra set of hands.
Of course, Jensen agreed. He’s the guy who takes care of things. His mother when she was dying, his brother after she was gone, every artist he’s ever written for or backed up on tour, or sat beside in a studio at two in the morning when the song wasn’t working.
He’s modest about it, but my internet deep dive filled in the details. And that’s why I know that once we get back to reality, I need to say goodbye to him for good.
I think I’ve known that from the beginning. Not the beginning of this trip or when he showed up in Skylark or the first glimpse of his photo on the volunteer wall at Vanderbilt. I knew it from the moment he slid into the booth across from me at The Alcove.
He’s a man who takes care of things, and I’ve had enough of people who felt like they needed to fix me.
I left that version of myself behind on the shoulder of a mountain highway. Sure, cancer changed things for a while, but I refuse to be a person who lets other people carry her because she doesn’t have the strength to stand on her own. It would be too tempting with Jensen. Or maybe there’s just too much weakness left in me to trust that I wouldn’t fall right into it.
So I ignore the sharp ache radiating across my chest as I narrate the ending in my own mind and push back from the desk.
I’m not done with this little high-altitude bubble surrounding us, and Jensen doesn’t treat me like a damsel in distress. But that doesn’t change who we each are at our core.
I slide on the Birkenstocks, which don’t seem to be the romance deterrent Avah is convinced they are. She’s full of it, anyway. Because she also knows Jeremy wouldn’t care if she were wearing a paper bag. My brother is so gone for her it’s embarrassing.
An acute awareness of what I’m missing settles over me. I wouldn’t mind having what my friends have. Maybe I will someday. Once I’m fully in remission, and there’s enough distance between me and the worst year of my life. Then I can let myself love again.
Love.What a loaded word.
Did I ever truly love the loser who left me on the side of the road in Colorado, or was he just a way out of a life that didn’t fit me? An escape from the low-grade hum of parental disappointment that I could hear from across an ocean?
